Civil War
by LowlyWriter
Summary: The year is 1859. The voice in his head has been driving America to the brink of insanity for close to a decade. With his people turning against each other and war on the horizon, America struggles to survive with the help of an old friend. Rated T for language and because I'm paranoid. Some references to future USUK. Please read the author's note! I own nothing you recognize.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: **PLEASE READ!**

Hi, everyone!

This is my first-ever fanfiction submission. I've written for a while, but never actually had the guts to try publishing anything. So, here we go. If it goes well, then I'll continue; if not, oh well, I'll just keep using my siblings as my audience.

Please note the following:

1\. As far as references to mental illnesses in this fic go, I am assuming that nations deal with and experience such things in a way not always identical to human experiences. That being said, I apologize for any inaccuracies.

2\. Any offensive language, especially racial slurs, is used solely for the purpose of historical accuracy. I do not mean to offend anyone, but as a story taking place in the Civil War era, there will be language that we today deem inappropriate. If you have complaints with this, I will be happy to further discuss the importance of language in any kind of literature privately.

3\. Um... please enjoy! Thank you for taking the time to read this!

I

America groaned aloud, nursing his head in his hands. England, America knew, would have told him to see someone for the worsening, constant headaches years ago- back in 1850, when he'd gone a whole week out of commission due to a massive headache, as though another person were trying to escape from his head.

He chuckled at the thought. Yes, England would certainly-

 _Oh, for the love of God, forget what England would say!_

Ah, yes. There was also the voice. England would not approve.

The voice was certainly worrisome. It was something America could not quite describe without sounding insane. Then again-

 _Quit thinking and get me a drink, damn it all!_

Then again, America continued, absently making his way toward his strongest liquor, perhaps he was insane. Here he was, obeying the commands of thoughts not his own, hearing the voice of another within his head… He downed a whiskey- who cared what kind?- and poured another. The voice was one which had started speaking in America's mind shortly after Jefferson Davis claimed the right of nullification for South Carolina. He had failed miserably, of course, but that, in addition to the headaches, was more than enough trouble for America.

He sighed to himself. The southern states were growing restless: the voice kept repeating that.

 _Damn straight they are! And they'll secede before any of those nigger-loving, abolitionist Yanks have their way!_

America glared suspiciously at the whiskey bottle. Those definitely were not his thoughts. Those were the thoughts of the South, to be sure, but not of America! Not of the country as a whole, and certainly not of the man, Alfred F. Jones! What was happening to him?

The White House butler cleared his throat at America's office doorway. "Pardon me, sir," he pleaded. "But your appointment is here."

"Appointment?" How much had he forgotten so quickly? Did he have an appointment today?

"Mister Arthur Kirkland and the Monsieur Francis Bonnefoy, sir."

 _Ah, England and France! The slaves of King Cotton… Other than the actual slaves, of course…_

"Shut up," America muttered, running a hand through his already-messy hair, making his way down to meet the Europeans. "Don't need you messing with my head while I'm trying to work things out with them…"

 _You still don't get it, do you? I'm not messing with your head. I'm not even_ in _your head! I_ am _your head!_

"No, you're not! I told you to shut up!"

Two pairs of eyes- one a grassy green, the other sapphire-blue- looked up at America in concern at the sudden outburst. It took America a moment to realize that he'd just spoken out loud to no one in particular (to an outsider, anyway). He was officially losing it.

 _Losing it? You lost it years ago, boy! You're just now realizing it!_

America bit back the growl that threatened to sound at the words in his head. He forced a smile, blocking out the voice. "England. France. How are you?"

England did not speak, enormous eyebrows furrowing as he studied America. France smiled back graciously. " _Mon petit Amerique_ ," he greeted, bowing. "We are most well… But you?" Now France's concern showed past the constant (sometimes sickening) gentleness in his eyes. "If you do not mind, you are looking quite ill…"

America waved a hand in France's direction, as though shooing away a mosquito in the disgusting Southern humidity.

 _See? Even in a simple gesture! I'm always with you!_

"I'm fine," he let out between his gritted teeth. "A little stressed, is all." He made his way toward the room's liquor cabinet. "Nothing a drink can't fix," he continued, rambling. "Can I get you gentlemen anything? I actually just got a fresh import from-"

"You never drink," England muttered suspiciously. "Especially not during meetings. You tend to make bad decisions when you drink…"

"What are you talking about?" America laughed. "I always make good decisions! I'm the United States of America!"

"Does 'the Articles of Confederation' ring a bell?" England asked, teasing. America's reaction, however, was quite unexpected.

"Hell, yes, it does!" America exclaimed. "One of the best damn decisions I ever made!"

The Europeans glanced at each other, then back at America.

"How, exactly?" England ventured. "You couldn't do anything; you had no order! No sense of security! No central pow-"

"As it should have stayed!" America interrupted, wine glass suddenly shattering in his hand. "With the _states_ in charge of things, and the federal government out of their business!"

"Ah…" France raised a hand to speak. "Was it not the fault of those same Articles that it took you years to pay me from that _petit_ revolution, and that kept you from getting _mon cher Antoine_ to leave your borders?"

"It would've happened eventually, old man!" France's eyes widened as America's English suddenly took a turn for the worse, developing one of those awful regional accents he loved so much. "And it would've happened while giving the states their rights! None of this _nullification_ , none of this _secession_ , none of this-!"

"Secession?" England echoed, eyes wide. He stood, and strode over to the raging American's side, putting a hand to the taller nation's forehead. "You're quite warm today, lad; maybe we ought to leave this…"

"No…" And America's voice was small, even as he tried to make it stronger, more casual. "I'm fine. My apologies…" He bowed to the other two. "Please… We have cotton to deal, do we not?" He took a seat. "Now, what was our deal after the last time?" He poured a large glass of some vintage red (a gift from Italy last July) and downed it in a single gulp. England's raised eyebrows and France's cringe at America's lack of proper drinking etiquette went unnoticed. He closed his eyes, muttering to himself.

"Shut up… Just shut up…."

 _Why? You know I was right!_

"No… George… They were bad… Damn Prussia, getting me drunk…"

 _And it was the best night you'd had in a long time. But I wonder what- or rather, who- could have made it better, hm? Perhaps… someone in this very room?_

"Shut. Up! You know nothing about me!" America screamed, abandoning the wine glass in favor of clutching his ringing head, keeping the bayonet within at bay. He could feel the tears burning his eyes.

 _Quite the contrary- I know everything about you! I! Am! You!_

 _ **CRACK!**_

Despite the lack of a physical whip, America cried out in pain, feeling the lash against his brain.

"Please… Stop, I'm begging you…"

"America?" This quietly, almost frightened, from England.

"Brother, make him go away…"

France, always one eager to observe the confusing-yet-sweet relationship between the United States and the United Kingdom, glanced to England, eyes wide.

"Who, America?" England hid his desperation well. "I can't do much if I don't know-" He stopped at the sight of the young man, weaker now than he'd been in years. "I can't do much…" he repeated. _You've pushed me away whenever I've tried for the past… Almost 90 years..._

The discussion from that point was tense and uneasy. The Europeans hid it, however, silently agreeing to discuss this whole situation later.

Let me know what you thought! Do you want the next chapter? Let me know by reviewing!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:

Hello again, my lovely readers!

First of all, a special thanks to **MaqueTheSparrow** for your lovely review. Your kind words brought tears to my eyes and gave me the courage to come back and put up a second chapter.

Second, thank you to **DPN 2012** and **Norwegianaf** for favoriting this story! It means so much to me!

I'm still in a phase where it feels really surreal to be publishing where I've read so many great fanfictions... kind of intimidating, if I'm totally honest. But I'm here to continue writing so long as I have readers willing to put up with it. Thank you all for reading and for coming back!

Sorry this chapter is short, but it'll get better after this (I hope). Please enjoy!

II

"It's not good," England stated bluntly as he and France left the White House. "I knew that something like this would happen; I knew-"

" _Oui_ ," France agreed. "It is bad. But he is his own nation now, independent of you and anyone else who would ever try to convince him otherwise."

"Twenty quid says it's the slavery issue," England muttered, glancing in distaste around him, catching the eye of a white man accompanied by a black. "I've told him ever since we abolished it, it's going to cause him trouble. But did he listen to me?"

" _Non_ ," France replied. "And it will only grow worse if you push the issue. He values his independence too much."

England sighed. "I know. That bloody idiot on the other hand… Makes me want to come back and fight him all over again sometimes. You read that book? The one that Stowe woman wrote?" he continued.

" _Oui_ ," France replied. "Quite a fabulous work, wouldn't you say?" He winked blatantly toward a well-dressed white woman, who blushed prettily above a pale yellow cotton dress. "Has our dear _Amerique_ read it yet?"

"I haven't asked," England admitted, steering France away from the pretty woman, whose husband apparent began to glare intensely toward the nation. "I assume he's read at least part of it; it's such a huge hit… Do you really have to do that?" he asked, groaning internally as another, much younger woman appeared to fall prey to the sapphire-eyed charms of the country _l'amour_.

"But of course, _Angleterre_!" France cried. "I must spread _l'amour_ to all, even those who do not show it to their fellow man!" He nodded to a black slave, standing guard by his master's carriage. "And, with luck, it will spread to our favorite _petit imbecile_."

England sighed. _But that scene back there… That was more than his normal idiocy. That was something far more severe. Secession? Nullification?_ He grimaced, the memory of the little boy who had called him a brother once rising in his mind. _What happened to you, lad? Let me fix this for you…_

A/N: Reviews get new chapters!

-Lowly


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:

Hello, darlings!

Whoa! I came on here to see whether it would be worth it to you guys to post another chapter and what do I see? _100 views and two more reviews!_ Now I understand the joy a writer feels upon seeing feedback for his or her work. You guys really are the best.

As such, I want to give special thanks to **K** and my **Guest reviewer** : you guys are truly an inspiration to keep this story going. I'm still not incredibly confident in my work, so every kind word is so valuable to me, giving me another reason to keep posting for you.

Lastly, I want to extend my apologies for another short chapter. I have most of them written ahead of time, so I promise it makes sense with the flow of the story. Things will really start moving in the next chapter or two, which I'll have up by next Sunday if you, my beloved readers, let me know that you want it. The more views and comments I see, the more encouraged I am to give you another chapter of my writing.

I love you all! Please enjoy!

III

America screamed, gripping his hair, trying to block out the voice.

 _Well, this is fun! Now Franny and Artie know you're crazy!_ The voice began to giggle. _Big brother Artie, what shall he do, now that he knows something's wrong with you? Will he help? Now, why would he? Why would he care for the ungrateful little brat with the affected airs? You can fight all you want against me in your head, but Artie won't care, even after you're-_

"Shut the fuck up!" America sobbed. "Just shut up and get the hell out of my head! Who are you, anyway?!"

 _Funny_ you _should ask that, really. It's usually your brother who gets that question, but no matter. Are you that stupid, that you don't even know me?_

"Tell me… please…" the nation whimpered.

 _I am you. I am-_

"The Confederacy." Wait. That last bit wasn't in his head… America looked in the mirror. His large blue eyes were lighter, colder, than they generally were- almost a gray, really. "I am the Confederacy. Only a small part of you, for now, but soon… Soon, I'll be the talk of the nation."

America- the Confederacy- whoever the _hell_ he was at this point- began to laugh. It was a deep, haunting laugh that echoed through the halls of the White House. The staff looked to one another, concerned. The screams had been terrifying, yes, but this laughter was the onset of something far worse.

A/N: Reviews bring tears of joy to my eyes!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:

Hello again, my darlings!

I can never get over how awesome you guys are. Every week, I look at the stats on this story, and the numbers continue to astound me! The kind words of people like **DPN2012** and the alerts that people like **thiswriteris always listless** , **Candy91711** , and **ButterfliesInTheSkies** are following me bring me unlimited joy! Thank you all so much!

This is the last irritatingly short chapter (I think).

But with such positive feedback, I want your opinions on a little idea that's been forming in my head. What would you guys think of a little series (clearly not worked chronologically until later, as I've started out with the Civil War) about America's life as a young nation. I think it would work out starting with Spanish colonization (which will be briefly mentioned in this story), then work through the Revolution, the beginning struggles of America as an independent nation, and move forward from there.

Shorter stories (one-shots, or very short multi-chapters) would involve westward expansion, a look at the progressive era and the Jazz Age, and MAYBE a glimpse of the personification's changing views of war in the Middle East as we hit a more modern stage.

Definite longer ones would include the Revolution and the beginning of the independent nation, America's involvement in both World Wars (probably with a much darker tone than shown in the anime), the resulting Cold War, and a look at the 2016 election (though that would definitely be by popular demand; that could get really risky).

Anyway, it's just an idea. Let me know what you guys think of it in the comments!

Thank you so much for taking the time to read- both this awkwardly long note and the actual story. Now, enough with my ramblings. I own nothing you recognize. Enjoy!

IV

"...not entirely sure how we may help, _mon amis_." France swirled the glass of fine Italian wine- he really ought to ask for the recipe, but Italy was still somewhat peeved about the whole Mona Lisa incident- under his nose mindlessly, unburdening himself over good alcohol with his best friends. _Mostly good alcohol_ , he corrected himself, glancing in distaste at the beer settled at Prussia's side.

Prussia tapped his leg, brow furrowed in concern. "Sounds to me like the kid's got some kind of mental issue," he reasoned. "Which means there's some serious shit about to go down in the country."

" _Si_ ," Spain agreed. "There is not much you can do, _mi amigo_."

"Except," Prussia interrupted, gulping down some beer, "be there for him. You know he's a stupid and independent little piece of shit; he's gonna hate it, but he's gonna need everyone he can get once it starts getting really bad. You and England… he trusts you two more than any of us. You might be able to talk some sense into him."

France sighed. "Even then… can he really make it through whatever this is?" He looked to Prussia. "It sounded as though he was… divided."

If it were possible, Prussia would have drained of all color. "Divided," he echoed. "As in…?"

France nodded silently, watching his friend.

"Shit." The former nation drained an enormous quantity of his beer, slamming his glass onto the table beside him. "Fuck." He pondered a moment. "Fuck," he repeated. "Who do you think is gonna hurt more: America, or England watching the whole shitshow go down?"

No reply was made. The trio (once known as the Crush-Austria-Team) sat and drank in silence, working through this new information. Prussia, especially, mulled over the whole situation. He liked America: it was because of the Prussian soldiers that the American army had finally been whipped into shape; the two had become rather good friends back in the 1700's- an old, somewhat divided nation, training up a new, blooming, united, fully independent one… England would have drooled all over it back when that William guy was alive, provided it wasn't his own colony turning against him…

Prussia downed another gulp. Sure, there was a lot of political crap going down in Germany. But something told him it would be fine without him until things got slightly more organized. Until then, this might be an opportunity for Prussia to be there for the little (okay, grown, but he was still barely in his physical twenties, in Prussia's mind) nation, whatever he was going through.

 _It'll be okay, Amerika. I know. I'll be right there…_

 **Historical Fact Checking:**

Mona Lisa incident: as referenced in the show, the Mona Lisa is a bit of a controversy between Italy and France. Painted by Italian da Vinci, it was inherited and sold by his French assistant following the artist's death. It was stolen for Italy in 1911, then returned to France.

Prussia, division, and other political crap: the late nineteenth century was a period of unification for the hundreds of Germanic states (not including Austria). Until then, the area was ruled by the Holy Roman Empire and the Habsburgs. Germany would be united under Prussia beginning in the early 1860's. For the purposes of this story, with the growing unity in his country, Prussia knows the pain of the divided states, though the 'political crap' is getting dealt with by Wilhelm and Bismark.

A/N: Reviews bring me joy! And let me know if you want that American series!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N:

Hi, guys.

It's been an incredibly difficult week, to say the least. One of the main repercussions from it is that my will and confidence in writing has declined sharply. You guys are such faithful readers, so even though part of me wonders what the point is, I really hope I can still bring a piece of joy into your lives. I love you all.

Enjoy.

V

The door to the White House was pounded on numerous times before there was finally an answer.

"What is the meaning of-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. President, sir!" the young guard cried, saluting. "He wouldn't leave, and demanded to see Mr. Jones, sir! And then his demon bird started attacking me, sir!"

James Buchanan blinked. "Demon bird?" His face was promptly pecked by a fuzzy yellow ball. "What the hell-!"

"Down, Gilbird!" The President looked toward the source of the voice to find a smirking, confident albino at the open doorway. "With all due respect, Mr. President, you seem to be failing at your job, so I'm here to help you out. Gilbert Beilschmidt, also called Prussia, at my own service. You want my service, you gotta pay." He winked at the stunned leader and sauntered up the stairs. "You haven't been taking very good care of your country, Mr. President! He's not England or France, or hell, even Spain! He can't take care of himself for extended periods of time!" The albino shook his head, laughing as he searched for America's personal apartment. "Stupid useless humans…" He paused at a door behind which he could hear the crashes of furniture and the cries of _Shut up, shut up!_

This was definitely it.

Prussia didn't even bother knocking: he knew it was useless. He slammed the door open and strode over to the American, who obviously barely recognized him.

"Hey, hey." Prussia held up his hands in a gesture of peace as America, tense and a bit animalistic, whirled on him. "It's alright, Amerika. It's just me- the awesome Prussia, remember? I'm here to help you."

"Prussia…"

" _Ja_ , it's me. I trained you to fight England all those years ago, remember?" He used a soothing tone he usually reserved for his little brother. "I want to help you again now, _mein freund_."

America's muscles relaxed, and he fell to his knees. "Prussia…" He looked up, big blue eyes begging for the freedom he'd fought so hard to gain. "Get him out. Please. I can't… I can't control him!"

"Shhh," Prussia soothed. "I believe in you, Amerika. You can do this." Kneeling, he gripped the American's shoulders. "Be brave. Be strong. Your nation is going to need a hero soon, and it's going to hurt like hell. But I know you can be that hero for them, right?"

A tear trickled down America's face. "Is it going to kill me?" he whispered.

Prussia did not answer.  
A/N: Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N:

Hey, everyone. I'm still in a rough place, so I'm sorry this is up so late.

Also, the time change is the worst.

I love you all, and I apologize. Hope you enjoy this installment.

Reviews help me...

VI

At least it was 1859, America reasoned, thumb tracing over the mug of beer Prussia had ordered him to drink. Only a little while longer, and Buchanan would be gone- the moron never listened to him, anyway.

Prussia, finished with cleaning up from the multiple objects thrown in an attempt to drown out the Confederacy, took a seat across from America. He sighed in relief.

"Right," the albino began. "Now that that's done, how about you sum up the last few years for me?"

America shook his head.

Prussia leaned forward. "I know it's hard. But I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

America laughed bitterly. "That's obvious, isn't it?" he asked. "My people are divided! I'm… I'm dividing… That's what's happened to you, isn't it?" he continued. "Germany is dividing…"

"Opposite, actually," Prussia corrected, "but the same concept. It's unifying- very slowly- under me. My country is still strong. In time, though..." He shrugged. "Who's to say what'll happen to me? We've been divided before; there's nothing that says it'll never happen again. But I know that pain," he assured the young nation. "I know what it is to have divisions, to believe there is no hope for you or your people."

America nodded, his eyes hollow. "It hurts…"

"I know."

A knock suddenly sounded at the door. A uniformed man, concern lining his brow, opened the door and stood at the threshold. "My apologies, Mr. Jones," he said. "We seem to have a bit of a situation."

"What kind of situation?" Gone, Prussia realized, was the carefree teenager of the Revolutionary War, replaced with this shell of a man.

"Harper's Ferry, sir," the official answered. "Eleven men- slaveowners- dead under John Brown."

"That bastard!" In an instant, America had changed, causing the poor official to nearly drop dead in fright, and leading Prussia to rise in case someone needed to be held back from murder. "How dare he! Those were good men, and didn't deserve that! They were keeping those damn niggers in their natural place! What right does Brown have?!"

 _Whoa_. Prussia studied the young nation in front of him. Clear blue eyes had become stormy gray; America's normal, fiery anger became something chilling, bringing the temperature of the room down a good ten degrees.

"S-sir?" The poor official looked about ready to piss himself, Prussia noted. The former nation made the executive decision to take over here.

"Amerika!" he cried, forcing the young man to look at him. Vaguely waving for the official away to take care of other business- any business but handling an enraged nation with a clearly separate personality- Prussia forced America back into the seat. "How about telling me what the hell is going on!"

Instead of the defensive state Prussia had expected, he was shocked to see America's face take on a slow smirk that reminded Prussia a bit too much of England's pirating days. As America laughed bitterly, Prussia supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised to find that it sounded a bit too much like France when driven to the brink of rape from insanity.

 _Mein Gott, whose idea was it to let those two, of all nations, raise this kid?_

"Sure, Prussia," America (was it America anymore?) agreed silkily, snapping Prussia out of his monologue of regret that a saner nation didn't make it to the New World before England and France had. "I'll talk." The smirk stretched further. "America? He doesn't really appreciate letting you know what's going on. But then that sad sack is under the impression that he's too heroic to need help. Load of bullshit, if you ask me. But," the apparent newcomer continued, "that doesn't mean that he _can_ be helped at this point."

"Who are you, then?" Prussia asked.

"Confederate States of America," came from America's lips. "At your service."

"Why haven't I heard of you before now?"

The Confederate States sighed indulgently. "It all comes around to the, ah… sentiments of my weaker self." He leaned in, as though sharing a wonderful secret. "Union doesn't like me, y'see. He can feel the turmoil, the fighting, in his head. He thinks that's all I am: a little voice in his head, telling him what the South wants. What the _country_ wants. And he doesn't want anyone else to see or know. Actually…" He paused. "Not _anyone_ , per se. Mostly just Europe. England and France, especially. You, though…" Prussia refused to break eye contact as those cold gray eyes looked him over intensely. "He trusts you," the Confederate States finally concluded.

Prussia raised a white eyebrow. "Why?"

"Hell if I know," the younger admitted, shrugging as he picked up the remainder of America's beer. "But it explains why he was screaming profanities at himself in front of Iggy and Franny, but let you see what's going on."

"You said he can't be helped," Prussia remembered. "Why do you say that?"

The smirk returned, and the Confederate States gulped down the contents of the beer mug. "This is a personal matter," he said simply. "Besides, once he finally acknowledges that I exist? There's no way he'll be able to stop me. I'll be too strong for him." He finished off the alcohol, then stretched his arms over his head. "Good talk, Prussia. Tell Franny he can't do anything, yeah?"

And with that, the Confederate States of America collapsed into the chair. The smirk disappeared, leaving a troubled frown, a creased brow, and a single tear in its wake.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N:

Hey, everyone!

I'm much more excited to post this week- not because of anything in the writing, but because you have all been so supportive by even reading this over the last two weeks! Thanks so much to **DPN2012** for your comments and constant support. Thanks also to my latest favoriters and followers, **Bobbi Stork, HomestuckerOfTheCentury, Miisakee, riasva, DownedFireFly, GreyLady1575, K22Z,** and **Liberty Free**. You guys are amazing.

So! I hope you guys all enjoy this chapter. We're actually getting into the action now! Remember, this is all my personal take on an internal matter; the research and historical facts are minimally fabricated, but that's to be expected when you make countries into people, right?

Thanks for reading! Reviews are beautiful to read! I love you all!

Enjoy!

VII

America sputtered back to the land of the living with ice-cold beer in his face and bright red eyes staring at him in concern.

"...the hell, Prussia?"

The albino heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank Gott. I thought you were dead. _Not_ awesome."

America sat up, rubbing his head. "What happened?"

Prussia ran a hand through his hair, eyes not meeting America's. "What's the last thing you remember?"

America furrowed his brow in thought before his eyes- once again a clear blue, thank God- widened in fear. "Brown. Harper's Ferry. Shit, no, eleven dead…"

"Amerika, I need you to calm down." When Prussia's words did nothing to stop the closing panic attack, he took the young nation from the chair and onto the sofa across from the chair. Quietly murmuring soothing phrases to the sobbing, shaking young man in a combination of German and English, he placed America's head into his lap and stroked the wheat-blonde hair.

It wasn't anything new to the former German nation. He'd done the same thing for his own brother all those years ago, after the fall of the Holy Roman Empire. Not that that probably mattered to James Buchanan as he burst into the room, disheveled and more than likely searching for the personification of his nation under the impression that _America_ would know what to do in this situation. The man took in the scene before him, then backed out slowly under the blood-red glare that threatened death if he took another step toward the already-panicked nation. Prussia sighed as Buchanan's footsteps echoed away, sounding hurried: likely the man would end up writing a letter to Victoria and the Prime Ministers and Napoleon, asking what an albino was doing in a compromising position with the United States.

That would be fun, assuming England didn't kill him.

"Amerika," he whispered as the young nation's breathing grew steadier. "I need you to concentrate. And I need you to tell me what's causing all this."

With a shaky breath, America's eyes, blue as the Atlantic, met Prussia's, conveying only the simplest of messages.

 _I trust you._

 _Help me._

Slavery.

Of _ficking_ course it was slavery, Prussia thought as he searched out a decent pub near the White House. The issue had been difficult enough in England and France, he remembered. But with America, whose economy was so dependent on the institution's existence?

This would be difficult.

 _Focus_ , he told himself. _How do we do this? How do we keep him alive while still keeping this on the down-low with the rest of Europe?_ Apparently, the cotton industry's actions had been taken care of at America's last meeting with France and England. According to America, he only needed to hold the Confederacy back for another year- until the next election, when something might get done.

Prussia glanced at the suffering nation: America, bags forming under his eyes, clutching a whiskey bottle in one hand and nursing his head in the other. And the decision was made.

Prussia quickly sent a message to Friedrich, telling him that he would be staying in America for the foreseeable future for personal reasons. He also included a postscript, asking Fritz to start preparing a few troops under the radar, just in case something happened.

Nothing suspicious there at all.

As soon as the letter was sent, Prussia's focus turned back to the young man he had once trained. It was time to support him once again.

"We'll do this, Amerika," he vowed to the pained nation. "We'll make it through this, and you'll be a hero to your people."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N:

Wow. So... it's been a while. *hides from disappointed readers*

I am so, so, SO sorry about the wait... Between finals and all the musical stuff (I'm a music major), it's just been incredibly hectic and I feel terrible for letting this go on for so long.

Please forgive me, my dear readers.

And so, without further ado, I shall give you extra chapters this week!

Hope you all enjoy!

VIII

The next months were difficult, to say the least.

After Brown was hanged for murder and treason, America became more closed off. His people, though, continued their dealings with each other and with other states, as well as other nations. For the South, this mostly meant that they were kept happy by the continued buying of cotton and its goods by England and France for the rest of Europe. Many Northern states continued their deals with Canada (Prussia wasn't entirely sure what those deals were: according to America in one of his intelligible moments, it was basically one business held underground, but that was stupid. Who ran trains underground, after all?). Save for Prussia, Europe did not hear from America for almost a year.

France tried to bring up the topic with England, but was brushed off- okay, so it was more that he was shoved off the topic by the island nation.

" _Angleterre_ , surely you do not intend to-!"

"Look, frog, you were the one who told me to let the git have his independence, weren't you? That's exactly what I'm doing! If you're so worried about him, go check on him yourself!"

(Granted, England regretted his words as soon as he heard that France had disappeared for a hasty meeting in America; God only knew what the pervert would do to the clearly vulnerable nation. Not that England cared- he just hated France's overtly sexual nature.)

Everything seemed normal enough from the port France docked at. He strode through Baltimore, making his way to the young nation's capital. He vaguely noticed that the whispers around him were more intense than usual, that there were more pamphlets, more… well, more just about everything. But that wasn't what France was here for.

He nearly broke into a sprint once the White House was in sight, only able to remember the conversation he'd had with Prussia and Spain the previous year concerning America. How was he now? Was he too late? Where the hell had Prussia been?

France did not bother with the usual formalities of entering the White House. Generally, he would have charmed his way past the guards, had a brief conversation with the butlers, considered molesting a few maids, and tried to flirt with Harriet (Lord knew her husband wasn't doing too well, despite their children), but he was too distracted for any of that foolishness today. Despite the efforts of a few very young guards, he brushed past everyone and everything as though it were only a blurry mirage, in search of the young man he had tried to raise when England wasn't looking.

Upon slamming one door open, he came across a sight he certainly hadn't been expecting.

Prussia was seated across a comfortable-looking couch, the little yellow fluffball known as Gilbird seated contentedly in his hair. Nestled into the albino, between his legs, was America himself. The young nation's head rested on Prussia's chest, the latter running his fingers through the wheat-blonde hair and singing softly:

" _Guten Abend, gut' Nacht_

 _Von Englein bewacht_

 _Die zeigen im Traum_

 _Dir Christkindleins Baum_

 _Schlaf nun selig und süß_

 _Schau im Traum 's Paradies_

 _Schlaf nun selig und süß_

 _Schau im Traum 's Paradies_."

America sighed, and Prussia shushed him softly before continuing the song.

France allowed the moment to continue a bit longer before knocking quietly on the doorframe. He nearly jumped back at the protective glare reflected in his best friend's eyes, but settled with raising his eyebrows in response. Prussia calmed only slightly once he recognized who had interrupted him, continuing to comb his hand through America's hair.

"What do you want, Franny?"

"I had come to check on _petit Amerique_ ," France admitted. "But he seems to be taken care of. Shall I leave you two alone?" he asked with a suggestive smirk.

Prussia rolled his eyes. "It's not like that, _arschloch_ ," he said. "England would try to unawesomely kill me. But keep it down if you have to stay; he hasn't been sleeping enough. The election is going to kill him if it keeps up like this…"

France gingerly took a seat in the chair across from the sofa Prussia and America were sprawled on. "How bad is it?"

"You'd think you and Eyebrows would keep a closer eye on things, considering that you saw him last year," the albino growled. He paused apologetically before continuing, "I'm sorry, Franny. I just…" He looked down at the sleeping nation. "I trained him. I really like the kid- stop being a pervert," he added at France's perverted smirk. "You know that's not the case. But this…" He sighed. "It's worse than we thought, Francis."

At the use of his human name, France's eyebrows raised yet again. "How bad, exactly?"

Prussia hesitated. "I shouldn't…"

"Gilbert." France's tone was far more serious than usual. "This boy is practically my son. Tell me-"

"Have you forgotten the one you actually raised?" Prussia challenged. "Don't become like England to him."

"Of course I haven't forgotten Canada," France scoffed. "He and I keep regular correspondence. _Amerique_ , on the other hand…" He sighed. "The boy values his independence too much to reach out to any of us for anything but business. Except for you, apparently," he concluded, nodding to the sleeping American.

Prussia's slight shudder at how familiar that sentiment sounded did not escape France's notice. "I've been told that same thing by another," he explained in reply to his friend's obvious confusion.

Before France could respond, a bleary-eyed America sat up, relieving Prussia's chest and looking around. "Gil… Wait." His gaze focused on France in dread. "What are you-"

" _Bonjour, mon fils_ ," France said gently. "Did you sleep well?"

"Uh… Yes…" America rubbed his eyes, looking to the albino. "How long was I asleep?"

Prussia shrugged. "I'd say about three hours or so. But don't you dare apologize!" he said in quick response to the look on America's face. "You haven't been getting enough sleep as it is. If sleeping on mein awesome chest gets you to sleep for longer than a few minutes, I'll take it."

The hard rubies of Prussia's eyes kept America from apologizing further. As he realized the position France had seen him in upon entering the room (he wasn't that stupid, after all), a slight blush covered the young nation's face. "Thank you, Gil…" he practically whispered. "Um… France? Do you think you could maybe… you know… not mention any of this to England?"

France's brow furrowed. " _Amerique_ , we are worried about you! We want to help! I certainly won't tell England about that little position I walked in on," he said with a wink, "but he has the right to know what's wrong."

The American's eyes hardened at the words. "And why does he have that right, Franny?" he asked, voice chillingly pleasant. "What gives him that right, do you think? Is it just the fact that he colonized me? Is it because he's still under the delusion that I'm his colony?" His voice had begun to rise.

France paled. " _N-non_ … I only mean-"

"That you think y'all can still control me?" America laughed, and France shivered as he saw the young nation's eyes become a chilling gray.

"We know that is not the case," France argued, his tone pleading. "We only want to help!" His eyes flicked to Prussia, who tensed.

America's laughter increased in volume and chill. "Didn't you tell him, Prussia?" He smirked, and France was convinced that this was not, in fact, the young man he had helped win a revolution. No, this was someone very different, indeed, but stuck within the same body. He'd heard of such a thing with humans, but had not seen it within nations.

The intruder moved his lips to France's ear- the European would have been proud of the seductive fashion the American had somehow picked up over the years in any other situation- and whispered in glee, "You can't help him. No one can help him. I will rise, and Union will go the way of Rome." He chuckled at the horror on France's face as the latter remembered what had happened to the once-great empire, backing away. "I need a drink," he decided, stretching and making his way toward the door. "I'll see you around, Franny," he called. "Tell Artie…" he smirked. "Tell Artie that Union says 'goodbye'."

As the door slammed shut behind the American, France turned to Prussia.

" _Prusse_. You will talk to me. You will talk to me now."

A/N: Chapter 9 will be up soon.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N:

As promised, Chapter 9. If you enjoy angsty USUK, I think you'll particularly enjoy this bit.

I love you all, and thank you for your continued support!

IX

"The slavery issue got out of hand."

England sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Something tells me I'm going to need a drink in order to have this conversation," he muttered, moving toward his liquor cabinet.

"Something strong would probably be best," France advised. "And two for me, _s'il vous plait_."

"You're delusional, Frog," the island shot back, pouring two glasses of the strongest scotch he had- still in his cabinet for the sake of emergencies after being given as a birthday gift from Scotland. "How much easier will drinking make this?"

"Not much," France admitted. "But it will help."

As England took a seat across from France, downing a sip of the alcohol, he raised a bushy eyebrow. "Well? What's happened to him?"

France did his best to explain the phenomenon he'd discovered upon his journey to America (excluding, of course, the fact that Prussia had been there for the better part of a year, caring for the young nation; England would not like that at all). It was difficult, though, when he reached the part where he'd accidentally unleashed a second person.

"Carry on," England urged.

"Well…" France hesitated. "Imagine something for me, if you will. You know our _petit Italie_."

"Of course." Everyone knew the little pasta-loving grandson of the Roman Empire.

"You also know Italy Romano."

England smirked. The elder Italian brother was always entertaining whenever the two met on the battlefield. "The brat that's starting to move out of Spain's place."

" _Oui,_ and such a shame it is," France sighed, eliciting a kick to the shin from England.

"Focus, pervert."

"Of course." France took a sip of his scotch. "I want you to imagine that there is only one Italy for a moment. There is only the cute little pasta-loving freak we all know and love."

"Understood."

"Now imagine that Romano… lives inside him," France continued, trying to explain it comprehensively. "Imagine that, at times, Romano comes out and communicates with us… but using Italy's body to do so."

England looked confused. "I don't follow."

"I accidentally unleashed something," France admitted, voice hoarse, finishing his drink. "I communicated your worry to him-"

"You git!"

"I was only trying to help! But because I said you were worried… America became angry… and he was no longer America. He was someone else entirely, someone who switched minds with the nation we raised." With a shaky breath, France continued, "He…" Here came the lie; here came the part where he tried to convince England that this had happened in a way it hadn't… "He told me his name was the Confederate States of America. He represents the South, the region that trades cotton with us."

"Confederate States," England murmured. "What do we do about it?"

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do."

"So he's going to die."

"I fear the worst, yes."

A beat of silence passed before England stood, abandoning his now-empty scotch glass. "I'm going upstairs," he stated. "Don't follow me." France took back the seat he had risen from in concern. "I just… need some time."

" _Oui, mon cher_ ," France conceded. "I will be here if you need anything."

England retreated up to his quarters and locked himself away. The small piece of hope he had allowed himself to maintain had died.


End file.
